


Fighting for Control

by Batsymomma11



Series: The Details of Being A Dad [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Recovery, daddy bats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: Bruce and Jason fight it out in the gym. In the end, they both care about each other and Jason just needs his dad.





	Fighting for Control

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own DC or any of their characters.  
> Just a short one-shot where Bruce and Jason have a moment when fighting it out in the gym. Timeline is sometime after the Red Hood movie, when Jason is trying to start over and be better.  
> Enjoy!

Sweat clings to skin.

Hearts hammer.

Breath sobs from lungs that have long since grown weary and yet, they do not stop. The pressure grinds down, fingers twisting, wrenching every last drop of effort for its trouble. And still, they train. They push. They climb towards the impossible goal of perfection.

A perfection they will never reach.

“Stop pulling your punches.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Ice blue eyes meet green and there is more than a battle of flesh, but one of wills. Blue wins over green and the hard snap of knuckle on muted bone rents the air. Jason flies backwards roughly into the padded gym wall, a thin stream of blood wetting his mouth and chin. He laughs, dark and without humor as he swipes it away with the back of a hand.

“Admit it. You’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Bruce rolls a shoulder, face a mask of calm even as his eyes burn brilliantly. “We train to win Jason. Not for anything else.”

“Liar,” Jason hisses, pushing back up, lunging without pause for the elder’s knees for a takedown. It’s thwarted quickly, and Jason is forced to dodge a retaliatory swipe for his gut. They grapple briefly again, clashing like twin magnets, teeth barred, only the sound of their breathing breaking in cold ripples through the hollow air.

They land with Jason on top, Bruce pinned and the scrabble for control becomes increasingly violent. Jabs become deadlier, fists aiming to hurt rather than for training and soon there is more than just breathing, there is sounds of pain. Sounds of anger being rent with such force, that Bruce and Jason are like mad dogs, unaware of the change.

A fist snaps downwards, connecting with a jaw, and Bruce’s head slaps into the mats, his eyes lolling back into his head.

All at once, there is a breath, a pause as reality slams downwards and Jason pushes away, desperate to get to his feet.

“It’s alright,” Bruce says weakly, his eyes glossy and strange as he tries to sit up. Blood pours from his nose, down his neck and over his black thermal. His knuckles are bruised. But so are Jason’s.

Jason sits back on his haunches, breathing heavily, something like a rock buried in his gut as he watches his mentor, God, his father, push to all fours and struggle to regain balance.

He’d hit with the intent to hurt. Not to win. He’d lost control. Again. Would he always? Would that blinding lust for blood and punishment ever ease with time?

He couldn’t be sure.

But he didn’t like how this felt. How it felt to be the dealer of pain and to know he was the cause of it for Bruce. Not anymore. It wasn’t supposed to be like that anymore. He’d changed. He was trying to change.

No matter the consequences, he wasn’t supposed to want to hurt someone. It brought a fetid sensation to his chest, sour and twisting.

“It’s alright,” Bruce repeats, now standing, one hand using the wall for support. “Jason, look at me.”

He does, but not without stealing himself first.

“It’s alright.”

“I don’t need you to keep saying that old man. I’m not a fragile fucking flower for you to coddle.”

Bruce’s mouth firms, eyes tightening at the corners. Little crinkles span and mark him his age. Though it’s not nearly old enough for the look in his gaze. The one that claims him to be a century at the very least.

“Why did you want to train? Was it so you could fight with me? Do we need to hash something out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” Bruce snaps now, voice strained.

Jason wants to argue with him, say something petulant and childish. All he manages is a lifted brow, his words absent. But there are still so many words between them. Still so much unsaid that wants to be aired.

Shifting as though in pain, Bruce shakes his head, striding past Jason as if to leave. Jason stops him with a hand, fingers gripping a shoulder that’s still just a tad taller than his own. Still larger than life, even now. Even after everything.

“Not yet old man.”

“What?” Bruce growls, “Not finished yet? Not enough blood yet?”

“No,” Jason whispers hoarsely, throat wanting to close in on itself, “Never enough.”

“Fine,” hands raise up, body slipping into battle stance, “Let’s go again.”

Jason stares at him, conflict warring with a burning anger. The anger feels red-hot, unquenchable and liquid. As if simply touching another being might cause them to incinerate. But he needs something. Anything. God, he just wants this gaping hole to be filled.

He strikes out at Bruce with a violence he keeps buried and finds him more ready than expected.

A delicate dance of kicks and punches, not an ounce of restraint, and the gym becomes staggeringly filled with the scent of blood and sweat. Jason feints, delivers an uppercut, gets deflected then jabbed with a right hook. They dance and dance, dance until there is so little left, Jason is scrabbling for air and Bruce has gone pale as a ghost, drenched in sweat.

Still, they fight. Sluggish. Punches so weak, they wouldn’t do any damage. Kicks pitifully short.

When Bruce takes Jason down to the mats again, using dirty boxing and sheer strength, Jason lets him. The air knocks from his lungs and he gasps like a fish, elbows sloppily trying to knock his attacker off. Bruce leans heavier, using his legs and hips to pin as he smothers Jason with both hands, until the fight goes out of him.

Darkness flickers in his vision, little black dots like fireflies winking in and out and Jason sags into the mat, tapping finally to end it.

It feels like more than a submission of strength. But one of will.

Bruce sags into him, weight so very heavy it’s stifling.

Then those arms that had been trying to suffocate him are wrapping around his shoulders, tugging him into tight sweaty warmth and Jason’s eyes are burning. His throat is closing like someone’s squeezing it, but no one is. He feels—like someone is burning him from the inside out. Like there’s a hand around his heart, tightening painfully. And he somehow wants it.

“It’s alright,” Bruce says quietly, his voice calm and tired now.

Jason nods into the words, arms inexplicably reaching to reciprocate the hug. Doing the unthinkable. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t need this. But God, he does need it.

“It’s not.”

“It will be Jason. I’m here now.”

Jason’s eyes screw shut, the pain drifting until it feels like a dream. He wants to believe Bruce. He wants it to be true. Maybe given enough time, it will be.

 


End file.
